hemingway, ernest - for whom the bell tolls-第45部分

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　That　had　been　the　first　big　disillusion　to　him　a　few　months　back　and　he　had　started　to　be　cynical　to　himself　about　it。　But　when　he　realized　how　it　happened　it　was　all　right。　They　_were_　peasants　and　workers。　They　had　been　active　in　the　1934　revolution　and　had　to　flee　the　country　when　it　failed　and　in　Russia　they　had　sent　them　to　the　military　academy　and　to　the　Lenin　Institute　the　Comintern　maintained　so　they　would　be　ready　to　fight　the　next　time　and　have　the　necessary　military　education　to　command。
The　Comintern　had　educated　them　there。　In　a　revolution　you　could　not　admit　to　outsiders　who　helped　you　nor　that　any　one　knew　more　than　he　was　supposed　to　know。　He　had　learned　that。　If　a　thing　was　right　fundamentally　the　lying　was　not　supposed　to　matter。　There　was　a　lot　of　lying　though。　He　did　not　care　for　the　lying　at　first。　He　hated　it。　Then　later　he　had　come　to　like　it。　It　was　part　of　being　an　insider　but　it　was　a　very　corrupting　business。
It　was　at　Gaylord's　that　you　learned　that　Valentin　Gonzalez；　called　El　Campesino　or　The　Peasant；　had　never　been　a　peasant　but　was　an　ex…sergeant　in　the　Spanish　Foreign　Legion　who　had　deserted　and　fought　with　Abd　el　Krim。　That　was　all　right；　too。　Why　shouldn't　he　be？　You　had　to　have　these　peasant　leaders　quickly　in　this　sort　of　war　and　a　real　peasant　leader　might　be　a　little　too　much　like　Pablo。　You　couldn't　wait　for　the　real　Peasant　Leader　to　arrive　and　he　might　have　too　many　peasant　characteristics　when　he　did。　So　you　had　to　manufacture　one。　At　that；　from　what　he　had　seen　of　Campesino；　with　his　black　beard；　his　thick　negroid　lips；　and　his　feverish；　staring　eyes；　he　thought　he　might　give　almost　as　much　trouble　as　a　real　peasant　leader。　The　last　time　he　had　seen　him　he　seemed　to　have　gotten　to　believe　his　own　publicity　and　think　he　was　a　peasant。　He　was　a　brave；　tough　man；　no　braver　in　the　world。　But　God；　how　he　talked　too　much。　And　when　he　was　excited　he　would　say　anything　no　matter　what　the　consequences　of　his　indiscretion。　And　those　consequences　had　been　many　already。　He　was　a　wonderful　Brigade　Commander　though　in　a　situation　where　it　looked　as　though　everything　was　lost。　He　never　knew　when　everything　was　lost　and　if　it　was；　he　would　fight　out　of　it。
At　Gaylord's；　too；　you　met　the　simple　stonemason；　Enrique　Lister　from　Galicia；　who　now　commanded　a　division　and　who　talked　Russian；　too。　And　you　met　the　cabinet　worker；　Juan　Modesto　from　AndalucIa　who　had　just　been　given　an　Army　Corps。　He　never　learned　his　Russian　in　Puerto　de　Santa　Maria　although　he　might　have　if　they　had　a　Berlitz　School　there　that　the　cabinet　makers　went　to。　He　was　the　most　trusted　of　the　young　soldiers　by　the　Russians　because　he　was　a　true　party　man；　〃a　hundred　per　cent〃　they　said；　proud　to　use　the　Americanism。　He　was　much　more　intelligent　than　Lister　or　El　Campesino。
Sure；　Gaylord's　was　the　place　you　needed　to　complete　your　education。　It　was　there　you　learned　how　it　was　all　really　done　instead　of　how　it　was　supposed　to　be　done。　He　had　only　started　his　education；　he　thought。　He　wondered　whether　he　would　continue　with　it　long。　Gaylord's　was　good　and　sound　and　what　he　needed。　At　the　start　when　he　had　still　believed　all　the　nonsense　it　had　come　as　a　shock　to　him。　But　now　he　knew　enough　to　accept　the　necessity　for　all　the　deception　and　what　he　learned　at　Gaylord's　only　strengthened　him　in　his　belief　in　the　things　that　he　did　hold　to　be　true。　He　liked　to　know　how　it　really　was；　not　how　it　was　supposed　to　be。　There　was　always　lying　in　a　war。　But　the　truth　of　Lister；　Modesto；　and　El　Campesino　was　much　better　than　the　lies　and　legends。　Well；　some　day　they　would　tell　the　truth　to　every　one　and　meantime　he　was　glad　there　was　a　Gaylord's　for　his　own　learning　of　it。
Yes；　that　was　where　he　would　go　in　Madrid　after　he　had　bought　the　books　and　after　he　had　lain　in　the　hot　bath　and　had　a　couple　of　drinks　and　had　read　awhile。　But　that　was　before　Maria　had　come　into　all　this　that　he　had　that　plan。　All　right。　They　would　have　two　rooms　and　she　could　do　what　she　liked　while　he　went　up　there　and　he'd　come　back　from　Gaylord's　to　her。　She　had　waited　up　in　the　hills　all　this　time。　She　could　wait　a　little　while　at　the　Hotel　Florida。　They　would　have　three　days　in　Madrid。　Three　days　could　be　a　long　time。　He'd　take　her　to　see　the　Marx　Brothers　at　the　Opera。　That　had　been　running　for　three　months　now　and　would　certainly　be　good　for　three　months　more。　She'd　like　the　Marx　Brothers　at　the　Opera；　he　thought。　She'd　like　that　very　much。
It　was　a　long　way　from　Gaylord's　to　this　cave　though。　No；　that　was　not　the　long　way。　The　long　way　was　going　to　be　from　this　cave　to　Gaylord's。　Kashkin　had　taken　him　there　first　and　he　had　not　liked　it。　Kashkin　had　said　he　should　meet　Karkov　because　Karkov　wanted　to　know　Americans　and　because　he　was　the　greatest　lover　of　Lope　de　Vega　in　the　world　and　thought　〃Fuente　Ovejuna〃　was　the　greatest　play　ever　written。　Maybe　it　was　at　that；　but　he；　Robert　Jordan；　did　not　think　so。
He　had　liked　Karkov　but　not　the　place。　Karkov　was　the　most　intelligent　man　he　had　ever　met。　Wearing　black　riding　boots；　gray　breeches；　and　a　gray　tunic；　with　tiny　hands　and　feet；　puffily　fragile　of　face　and　body；　with　a　spitting　way　of　talking　through　his　bad　teeth；　he　looked　comic　when　Robert　Jordan　first　saw　him。　But　he　had　more　brains　and　more　inner　dignity　and　outer　insolence　and　humor　than　any　man　that　he　had　ever　known。
Gaylord's　itself　had　seemed　indecently　luxurious　and　corrupt。　But　why　shouldn't　the　representatives　of　a　power　that　governed　a　sixth　of　the　world　have　a　few　comforts？　Well；　they　had　them　and　Robert　Jordan　had　at　first　been　repelled　by　the　whole　business　and　then　had　accepted　it　and　enjoyed　it。　Kashkin　had　made　him　out　to　be　a　hell　of　a　fellow　and　Karkov　had　at　first　been　insultingly　polite　and　then；　when　Robert　Jordan　had　not　played　at　being　a　hero　but　had　told　a　story　that　was　really　funny　and　obscenely　discreditable　to　himself；　Karkov　had　shifted　from　the　politeness　to　a　relieved　rudeness　and　then　to　insolence　and　they　had　become　friends。
Kashkin　had　only　been　tolerated　there。　There　was　something　wrong　with　Kashkin　evidently　and　he　was　working　it　out　in　Spain。　They　would　not　tell　him　what　it　was　but　maybe　they　would　now　that　he　was　dead。　Anyway；　he　and　Karkov　had　become　friends　and　he　had　become　friends　too　with　the　incredibly　thin；　drawn；　dark；　loving；　nervous；　deprived　and　unbitter　woman　with　a　lean；　neglected　body　and　dark；　gray…streaked　hair　cut　short　who　was　Karkov's　wife　and　who　served　as　an　interpreter　with　the　tank　corps。　He　was　a　friend　too　of　Karkov's　mistress；　who　had　cat…eyes；　reddish　gold　hair　（sometimes　more　red；　sometimes　more　gold；　depending　on　the　coiffeurs）；　a　lazy　sensual　body　（made　to　fit　well　against　other　bodies）；　a　mouth　made　to　fit　other　mouths；　and　a　stupid；　ambitious　and　utterly　loyal　mind。　This　mistress　loved　gossip　and　enjoyed　a　periodically　controlled　promiscuity　which　seemed　only　to　amuse　Karkov。　Karkov　was　supposed　to　have　another　wife　somewhere　besides　the　tank…corps　one；　maybe　two　more；　but　nobody　was　very　sure　about　that。　Robert　Jordan　liked　both　the　wife　he　knew　and　the　mistress。　He　thought　he　would　probably　like　the　other　wife；　too；　if　he　knew　her；　if　there　was　one。　Karkov　had　good　taste　in　women。
There　were　sentries　with　bayonets　downstairs　outside　the　_portecochere_　at　Gaylord's　and　tonight　it　would　be　the　pleasantest　and　most　comfortable　place　in　all　of　besieged　Madrid。　He　would　like　to　be　there　tonight　instead　of　here。　Though　it　was　all　right　here；　now　they　had　stopped　that　wheel。　And　the　snow　was　stopping　too。
He　would　like　to　show　his　Maria　to　Karkov　but　he　could　not　take　her　there　unless　he　asked　first　and　he　would　have　to　see　how　he　was　received　after　this　trip。　Golz　would　be　there　after　this　attack　was　over　and　if　he　had　done　well　they　would　all　know　it　from　Golz。　Golz　would　make　fun　of　him；　too；　about　Maria。　After　what　he'd　said　to　him　about　no　girls。
He　reached　over　to　the　bowl　in　front　of　Pablo　and　dipped　up　a　cup　of　wine。　〃With　your　permission；〃　he　said。
Pablo　nodded。　He　is　engaged　in　his　military　studies；　I　imagine；　Robert　Jordan　thought。　Not　seeking　the　bubble　reputation　in　the　cannon's　mouth　but　seeking　the　solution　to　the　problem　in　yonder　bowl。　But　you　know　the　bastard　must　be　fairly　able　to　have　run　this　band　successfully　for　as　long　as　he　did。　Looking　at　Pablo　he　wondered　what　sort　of　guerilla　leader　he　would　have　been　in　the　American　Civil　War。　There　were　lots　of　them；　he　thought。　But　we　know　very　little　about　them。　Not　the　Quantrills；　nor　the　Mosbys；　nor　his　own　grandfathei　but　the　little　ones；　the　bushwhackers。　And　about　the　drinking。　Do　you　suppose　Grant　really　was　a　drunk？　His　grandfather　always　claimed　he　was。　That　he　was　always　a　little　drunk　by　four　o'clock　in　the　afternoon　and　that　before　Vicksburg　sometimes　during　the　siege　he　was　very　drunk　for　a　couple　of　days。　But　grandfather　claimed　that　he　functioned　perfectly　normally　no　matter　how　much　he　drank　except　that　sometimes　it　was　very　hard　to　wake　him。　But　if　you　_could_　wake　him　he　was　normal。
There　wasn't　any　Grant；　nor　any　Sherman　nor　any　Stonewall　Jackson　on　either　side　so　far　in　this　war。　No。　Nor　any　Jeb　Stuart　either。　Nor　any　Sheridan。　It　was　overrun　with　McClellans　though。　The　fascists　had　plenty　of　McClellans　and　we　had　at　least　three　of　them。
He　had　certainly　not　seen　any　military　geniuses　in　this　war。　Not　a　one。　Nor　anything　resembling　one。　Kleber；　Lucasz；　and　Hans　had　done　a　fine　job　of　their　share　in　the　defense　of　Madrid　with　the　International　Brigades　and　then　the　old　bald；　spectacled；　conceited；　stupid…as…an…owl；　unintelligent…in…conversation；　brave　and…as…dumb…as…a…bull；　propaganda…build…up　defender　of　Madrid；　Miaja；　had　been　so　jealous　of　the　publicity　Kleber　received　that　he　had　forced　the　Russians　to　relieve　Kieber　of　his　command　and　send　him　to　Valencia。　Kieber　was　a　good　soldier；　but　limited　and　he　_did_　talk　too　much　for　the　job　he　had。　Golz　was　a　good　general　and　a　fine　soldier　but　they　always　kept　him　in　a　subordinate　position　and　never　gave　him　a　free　hand。　This　attack　was　going　to　be　his　biggest　show　so　far　and　Robert　Jordan　did　not　like　too　much　what　he　had　heard　about　the　attack。　Then　there　was　Gall；　the　Hungarian；　who　ought　to　be　shot　if　you　could　believe　half　you　heard　at　Gaylord'